The cost of observation

hey! It's me again. David!
I'm coming here to confirm that everything I predicted about the change in season was right. I don't know if it triggers some form of lament and I impose some silly self destruction for that reason alone, but fall is always just batshit unpleasant. The difference this year is that I'm casually rolling with the punches. I don't feel overwhelmed but it certainly hasn't been the best year(month) of my life so far. The creative drive is back, and I'm always a little intrigued how the two uncannily correlate to each other.
I was reading a book yesterday
just kidding, it was a graphic novel. regardless I was reading a book yesterday.
It was quite enjoyable actually, I rarely find the time or patience to read text that isn't backlit. The book itself I wasn't actually big on. The art seemed dated, the kind of stuff you'd see framed in an equally dated and barren restaurant. Maybe even a mcdonalds. wasn't my thing. All of the text in the book was narrated from the perspective of a third party and being so, didn't warrant thought or dialogue bubbles, which was interesting.. but it was written pretty incredibly dryly. And intentionally dryly. y'know, so it's kinda charming?
anyway very little about the book actually engaged me until I noticed how well I could identify with the main character, who was a detached middle-aged bachelor, and succesful playwright. He was charmless and severly socially awkward. Deriving all of his inspiration from his own life observations and personal shortcomings. He was prolific, because he kept to himself, took notes on everything, and the few close relationships he held he squandered for his own personal gain; exploiting his brothers retardation in a (succesful)attempt to write and award-winning play. His mother and father hadn't spoken to him since, but to him it was worth the trouble because the playwright never wastes good material. ever.
And while the majority of the book was about his love/sex(or lack thereof) life and the interest in, the message was the same. It's about a distanced sexless creatively productive type, who later quits writing altogether in order to settle down and take part in the practice of life instead of the study. I don't know if it was intended, but the happy ending was depressing as hell. This dude was either in or of the world everyone else was living in, but had no option to do both

now I'll put this out on the table right now: I'm not middle aged. which means I don't claim to be in the cold and removed state of this character. But the fact remains that this old shithead was incredibly and comfortably relatable for me. Moreso than any youthful character in any other story. I've mentioned a lot before how I have a hard time switching gears from the loud social and thoughtlessly elated version of myself to the "work" version of myself. Whether it's going to my place of employment on a monday or just spending time alone for introspective reflection, or to work on a painting. The two are polar opposites, and they seem to clash when they get too close to each other. It only stands to reason that eventually one will overpower the other.

I'm not above the notion that this affliction is nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy. But the worry remains in the back of my head. I've never been creatively and socially active at the same time, so I stress that the conclusion is either or. With a personality like mine, the dichotomy isn't an accommodating one. Exploit your relationships, or embrace them. Live a happy and mediocre life , or a detached but revered one. blah blah or blah blah.

this is merely a stream of consciousness for now because I apparently have things to do today that aren't fixing drafts for myself to read. but it felt necessary to leave a reminder to draw a conclusion, eventually, before resigning myself to the fate of one or the other . I guarantee I take all advice with a dumptruck full of salt, but on this one if you can at all relate, you understand it's not as self imposed a dilemma as it sounds. drop me some hot cents if u got em

I'm becoming one myself

I haven't had much to say lately because I've been choking on a lot of pride. Haven't done much worth noting and would be too sloppy to note it. while this blog has always been therapeutic first and foremost, I also do my best to keep it flowing smoothly and coherently for the few interested or bored enough to read.
If you've been paying attention you've noticed by now that things don't change a lot. Simply because I don't want to change them. I'm the kind of person that will quite readily make himself comfortable no matter how uncomfortable I am, wherever I am. It gets to a point that's easy, I learn how it works and use it to my advantage(if at all possible). As much as this is a good thing, in the way that I can adapt easily, it's also a pretty big handicap.
The past couple years for example, I've made the choice to opt for very little change, because I fear a new perspective will change the way I operate. I haven't felt comfortable or "at home" in years, ever. and I've made that totally acceptable. I worry I'll stop being passionate and exploring subjects that I now feel strongly about. Keeping in mind I'm aware anything I explore at this point won't come from a place of naivety, I still worry a lack of belief or virtue will start to bleed through in all of it and I'll consider myself a dirty hack.
I don't have beef with happiness. positive emotions can be cool as hell. But I have a problem with people who shut out their other emotions, and judge me for acknowledging the rest in such an unapologetic manner. A smile is usually cheap, terrible movies make me smile. but to stare at something bitter, and unrelenting in the face, fully understand it and learn to smile with it. That's something you take home with you, something that reminds you sleep shouldn't always come easy, and that's fine. A drunken shark with a knife in your peripheral vision is still a drunken shark with a knife

I'm honest with myself as often as I can be, because if I wasn't I wouldn't trust myself. But I don't see that anybody conducts themselves the same way. My biggest shit is people who don't acknowledge themselves for who they are. If I can invoke something you've been denying yourself or make you feel like shit for what you're playing off as acceptable behavior for cheap grins, I'm satisfied. If it offends you, oops! But your counterfeit pearlies offend me. and despite how big an asshole it makes me look it isn't always easy to put out there; this is far from schadenfreude.
The nature of what I make and say is incredibly public, and incredibly revealing. So revealing that I forget everyone else has to actually observe and asses their own version of me, before they can even come close to knowing me. I've known people for years that still give me the same advice that I'd never even consider taking, and believe firmly against in a lot of cases. I'm almost offended that some people can't fathom my actions or beliefs without a very thorough and yet very simple explanation. Not that I really consider my own behavior approachable. If anything this blog has become an assisting tool in interpretation. But then again I guess this could be summed up with that entry about subtlety. next week: moderation.
Anyways I'm sorry if your impression of me has ever been "dick for no reason". What I'm actually trying to get at is that I can't condone gratifying denial or insecurities by letting you shoot blind cats in a barrel. This goes beyond childish envy of a simpler or larger capacity for happiness, though that shit does explode my mind sometimes. Life is open to interpretation and that's exactly what gives it any meaning. Stop focusing blindly on the black and white, because you're missing the super pretty 98 shades of grey in between. Your emotions hold incredible value, and they all need to be acknowledged. Swim in your shit and your bathwater, etcetera.
I'm sure I'm close to repeating myself with this entry, but it's worth the extra bit of clarity. As for everything else I said, I exaggerated a bit and I'm still planning on moving(eventually. still.) as much as I fear change, the fate of a broken record is way the fuck worse than the fate of a flimsy but audible record. you can count on something happening whenever I stop saying the things I always say. you'll know it when you see it

the new blogspot interface informed me of my blog's 4,000th view today
considering how long I've been posting that's pretty unimpressive, but more detailed stats inform me that I have more than four readers which both surprises me and I guess really doesn't matter because it's all crap.
anyways here's the stuff I would've posted regardless and most of you have probably seen anyway
again without much comment. I can't take full credit for any of them because I just noticed they're all quotes. That's embarrassing. guess them all and I'll draw you whatever you like

happy thanksgiving pilgrims